When I was working my first full-time job right out of college, my friend Loretta and I used to refer to the bone-deep exhaustion that we felt at the end of each work week as "Friday Night Fatigue."
There were some Friday nights that we'd hit a Happy Hour at a local bar or restaurant after work, and then we'd head home to crash when it was over. And yes, the Happy Hours were usually over by 7 p.m. Eventually, we got used to the demands of a regular work week, and Friday night wasn't quite as exhausting. But it was still a night where we sometimes felt more like collapsing than playing.
Fast forward 15 years... a couple of hours ago, I was sitting at the dinner table while William told me about Batman missions and Andrew shovelled peas into his mouth, and a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Granted, I'm not as tired in general now that Andrew is a big boy who sleeps through the night, but I'm still pretty tired by 6 or 7 p.m. each evening. And that goes doubly for Friday evenings. Especially on Fridays when I'm crazy enough to take both boys to the grocery store before dinner. (We needed yogurt, bananas, and bread. And peas. And $70 worth of other stuff.)
How is it that my children ramp up even more in the evenings, just when I'm starting to shut down? The sheer amount of noise that William was making tonight in the bathtub was just astounding. How does he have that much energy? He was in preschool all week. Shouldn't he be tired, too?
Good old Friday Night Fatigue. I'm not the only one in my household who feels it, either. I bet, when I go upstairs in a few minutes, that David will be sacked out on the playroom couch. He was going to watch one of the SEC tournament basketball games, but I bet he conked out. It's like by a certain age, if you sit still for more than a certain amount of minutes, you just fall asleep. You're powerless to resist. Your body shuts down. And in David's case, he operated on a major sleep deficit for years during residency. He may never catch up.
'Nighty-night.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Monday, March 07, 2011
Not such a giant
So all the fretting I've been doing for the past couple of months over Andrew's size?
Pointless. Needless. Silly, even.
As of last Thursday, Andrew was 30 inches long, which puts him at the 50th percentile mark. Hurrah for average! For comparison's sake, I will note that that is almost exactly the same length that William was at the same age, maybe a smidge longer.
And he was 20 pounds and 6 ounces, which was glorious news to me because he'd had a terrible stomach virus the week before and barely ate for about five days. David and I think that he lost at least a pound or so from the yuckiness. I was nervous that he wouldn't even crack the 20 pound mark, but he did. And he's been eating like a crazy man ever since, too.
The weight puts Andrew at around the 20th percentile, which is not terribly surprising, given the trajectory he's been on for the last few months. I would have been surprised that he didn't weigh more at the one-year-mark if you'd told me all this about six or seven months ago, but there it is.
As our pediatrician noted, look at Andrew's parents. We're not exactly giants. Andrew's size makes total sense when you look at David. He may have started out life as a big old baby, thanks to my giant placenta and umbilical cord, but then he had to live life on the outside. And that included coming to terms with the fact that he's his daddy's son, and his daddy is not a large man. David's about the only person I know, in fact, who could still wear clothes that he wore in high school. (Not that he necessarily should, but he could, if he wanted to.) Andrew's built like David. Maybe he'll be a good runner, too.
But at least he weighs more than 20 pounds. And because Andrew weighs more than 20 pounds, we could turn his car seat around and have him face forward. But since he doesn't seem to mind being rear-facing--after all, he has William in the seat next to him to entertain him--we're going to keep him rear-facing for awhile longer. The AAP recommends it now, and I don't see any major reason to turn him around for now. Still, it's nice to know that we could. If we had to.
Pointless. Needless. Silly, even.
As of last Thursday, Andrew was 30 inches long, which puts him at the 50th percentile mark. Hurrah for average! For comparison's sake, I will note that that is almost exactly the same length that William was at the same age, maybe a smidge longer.
And he was 20 pounds and 6 ounces, which was glorious news to me because he'd had a terrible stomach virus the week before and barely ate for about five days. David and I think that he lost at least a pound or so from the yuckiness. I was nervous that he wouldn't even crack the 20 pound mark, but he did. And he's been eating like a crazy man ever since, too.
The weight puts Andrew at around the 20th percentile, which is not terribly surprising, given the trajectory he's been on for the last few months. I would have been surprised that he didn't weigh more at the one-year-mark if you'd told me all this about six or seven months ago, but there it is.
As our pediatrician noted, look at Andrew's parents. We're not exactly giants. Andrew's size makes total sense when you look at David. He may have started out life as a big old baby, thanks to my giant placenta and umbilical cord, but then he had to live life on the outside. And that included coming to terms with the fact that he's his daddy's son, and his daddy is not a large man. David's about the only person I know, in fact, who could still wear clothes that he wore in high school. (Not that he necessarily should, but he could, if he wanted to.) Andrew's built like David. Maybe he'll be a good runner, too.
But at least he weighs more than 20 pounds. And because Andrew weighs more than 20 pounds, we could turn his car seat around and have him face forward. But since he doesn't seem to mind being rear-facing--after all, he has William in the seat next to him to entertain him--we're going to keep him rear-facing for awhile longer. The AAP recommends it now, and I don't see any major reason to turn him around for now. Still, it's nice to know that we could. If we had to.
Friday, March 04, 2011
To the Batcave!
Last Christmas, we...I mean, Santa gave William a Batcave toy. It's essentially a Batman-themed dollhouse for little boys. But instead of a nursery for the baby doll, it has a jail for the bad guys. And instead of a kitchen, it has a command center.
That was some of the best money that Santa ever spent. It was not only a huge hit, but more than a year later, William still plays with it almost every day.
But there is a downside of having such a beloved toy. That downside is for his parents, of course: William always wants us to play Batman missions*--and he wants us to play those missions with him to his exact specifications. You see, if you've never had the opportunity to play a Batman mission with William, let me fill you in on what happens.
(*"Mission" is William's current favorite word to describe a session of play. I believe that it came from playing the Star Wars Lego game. It replaced his previous favorite word, which was "episode." If you have to interrupt playtime to, say, answer the phone or go to the bathroom, William will call out, "Pause the mission!" When you return to the play area, William will then say, "Unpause the mission.")
The unofficial rules of any and all Batman missions directed by William:
Rule No. 1: William is in charge. No exceptions.
Rule No. 2: You do not get to choose which Batman character you get to be. William will choose for you. You are very unlikely to ever get the chance to be Black Batman. On a really really good day, however, you might land the chance to be Arctic Batman. You are more likely to be assigned Superman and Robin, however.
Rule No. 3: William gets to decide the objective of the mission. Typically the main objective of any Batman mission is to defeat the bad guys and throw them into the Batcave jail. Usually but not always the bad guys have taken refuge under those dreaded strongholds of evil, the sofa cushions. However, no matter where they are hiding out, laughing their evil laughs, they must be brought back to the Batcave jail.
Rule No. 4: You have absolutely no say in what happens on the mission. If you attempt to make any independent decisions about action taken on the mission without getting William's prior approval, your idea will immediately be shot down with virtually no chance of reconsideration.
Rule No. 5: You are expected to make sure your characters carry on a sparkling conversation throughout the mission. Apparently there is no such thing as the strong silent type on a William-led Batman mission. They can't just stand there. Good dialogue is key. And in case you forget, William will remind you to make sure the characters keep talking.
If you keep all those points in mind, you'll do okay. You may be tempted to put your head down on the floor a little bit, but at least you won't cause any major existential Batman arguments.
Some missions are better than others if you stray just a little bit but still stick reasonably close to the rules, even if they do bear a striking resemblance to all the previous missions. Every once in awhile, William will be feeling very magnanimous and he'll let me be Green Lantern. That's always good. Today, he even let me have Green Lantern and Arctic Batman talk about the day earlier this week when Arctic Batman went to preschool with William for show-and-tell. Arctic Batman had chips for a snack while hanging out in William's totebag, in case you were curious.
But there are some days when I just. can't. play. another. Batman. mission. I've had to turn William down for the sake of my own sanity. Sometimes I'm genuinely working on a freelance story, but other times, I just don't want to do it. I say, "Hey, wanna watch TV? I think "Dinosaur Train" is on..."
Of course, every time I do that, I swear I hear the strains of "Cat's in the Cradle" playing in my head. One day he'll be all grown up, and I'll be all lonely and sad and wailing, "Why, oh why, didn't I play more Batman missions with William when he was four?"
I guess I can go make up for it, though. As I am typing this, William is standing right next to me, saying, "I really want to play a Batman mission." I am capitulating. I told him to go "get the mission ready" and I'll be in there in a minute. What can I say? It's that darned song, getting to me.
William with Green Lantern and Arctic Batman:
That was some of the best money that Santa ever spent. It was not only a huge hit, but more than a year later, William still plays with it almost every day.
But there is a downside of having such a beloved toy. That downside is for his parents, of course: William always wants us to play Batman missions*--and he wants us to play those missions with him to his exact specifications. You see, if you've never had the opportunity to play a Batman mission with William, let me fill you in on what happens.
(*"Mission" is William's current favorite word to describe a session of play. I believe that it came from playing the Star Wars Lego game. It replaced his previous favorite word, which was "episode." If you have to interrupt playtime to, say, answer the phone or go to the bathroom, William will call out, "Pause the mission!" When you return to the play area, William will then say, "Unpause the mission.")
The unofficial rules of any and all Batman missions directed by William:
Rule No. 1: William is in charge. No exceptions.
Rule No. 2: You do not get to choose which Batman character you get to be. William will choose for you. You are very unlikely to ever get the chance to be Black Batman. On a really really good day, however, you might land the chance to be Arctic Batman. You are more likely to be assigned Superman and Robin, however.
Rule No. 3: William gets to decide the objective of the mission. Typically the main objective of any Batman mission is to defeat the bad guys and throw them into the Batcave jail. Usually but not always the bad guys have taken refuge under those dreaded strongholds of evil, the sofa cushions. However, no matter where they are hiding out, laughing their evil laughs, they must be brought back to the Batcave jail.
Rule No. 4: You have absolutely no say in what happens on the mission. If you attempt to make any independent decisions about action taken on the mission without getting William's prior approval, your idea will immediately be shot down with virtually no chance of reconsideration.
Rule No. 5: You are expected to make sure your characters carry on a sparkling conversation throughout the mission. Apparently there is no such thing as the strong silent type on a William-led Batman mission. They can't just stand there. Good dialogue is key. And in case you forget, William will remind you to make sure the characters keep talking.
If you keep all those points in mind, you'll do okay. You may be tempted to put your head down on the floor a little bit, but at least you won't cause any major existential Batman arguments.
Some missions are better than others if you stray just a little bit but still stick reasonably close to the rules, even if they do bear a striking resemblance to all the previous missions. Every once in awhile, William will be feeling very magnanimous and he'll let me be Green Lantern. That's always good. Today, he even let me have Green Lantern and Arctic Batman talk about the day earlier this week when Arctic Batman went to preschool with William for show-and-tell. Arctic Batman had chips for a snack while hanging out in William's totebag, in case you were curious.
But there are some days when I just. can't. play. another. Batman. mission. I've had to turn William down for the sake of my own sanity. Sometimes I'm genuinely working on a freelance story, but other times, I just don't want to do it. I say, "Hey, wanna watch TV? I think "Dinosaur Train" is on..."
Of course, every time I do that, I swear I hear the strains of "Cat's in the Cradle" playing in my head. One day he'll be all grown up, and I'll be all lonely and sad and wailing, "Why, oh why, didn't I play more Batman missions with William when he was four?"
I guess I can go make up for it, though. As I am typing this, William is standing right next to me, saying, "I really want to play a Batman mission." I am capitulating. I told him to go "get the mission ready" and I'll be in there in a minute. What can I say? It's that darned song, getting to me.
William with Green Lantern and Arctic Batman:
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Shoe shopping
Oh my God, it is painful to buy shoes for a growing boy. In the past two days, I have spent (gulp) more than $100 on shoes for William. My checkbook hurts.
That's right. I've spent more on shoes for my four-year-old son than I have on shoes for myself in ages even though my shoe size will stay the same and his won't. But he outgrew all his shoes all of a sudden, and what was I going to do? I can't make him mince around in shoes that are too tight, which it seems that he's actually been doing, without even complaining, bless him.
Here's part of the problem. Like his mama, William has wide feet. The brand spankin' new saddle shoes that are sitting upstairs in a box in his room are a size 12 EE. The New Balance sneakers are a 12.5 W. Those are some Fred Flintstone-esque dimensions, kids.
I'm feeling for him, too. You put some sassy little strappy sandals on my feet, and it looks like you're trying to resurrect foot binding.
But the reality is that it's harder to find wide shoes at places like Target and at consignment sales. So we're usually stuck buying brand new ones at the kiddie shoe stores. I mean, it's worth it to get shoes that really fit William's feet and are comfortable for him to wear. But when you have to buy more than one pair at a time, it's painful, financially speaking.
Mr. Randy at the shoe store did point out that both pairs I purchased are very sturdy shoes and it's very likely I could hand down at least the dress shoes to Andrew in a few years. True. If William doesn't destroy them first, which is not a foregone conclusion. In the past William had a not-so-charming habit of dragging his feet across the asphalt parking lot at church, resulting in big dark welts gouged into the tops of his nice church shoes. He hasn't done it as much in recent months, but I won't hold my breath that he won't find some other creative way to break in his nice new shoes.
And I am going to start cruising eBay and the Stride Rite website for sales on wide shoes for small boys. And Nashville folks, if you see any boys' shoes at a consignment sale in decent shape in a 12.5, call me and let me know.
That's right. I've spent more on shoes for my four-year-old son than I have on shoes for myself in ages even though my shoe size will stay the same and his won't. But he outgrew all his shoes all of a sudden, and what was I going to do? I can't make him mince around in shoes that are too tight, which it seems that he's actually been doing, without even complaining, bless him.
Here's part of the problem. Like his mama, William has wide feet. The brand spankin' new saddle shoes that are sitting upstairs in a box in his room are a size 12 EE. The New Balance sneakers are a 12.5 W. Those are some Fred Flintstone-esque dimensions, kids.
I'm feeling for him, too. You put some sassy little strappy sandals on my feet, and it looks like you're trying to resurrect foot binding.
But the reality is that it's harder to find wide shoes at places like Target and at consignment sales. So we're usually stuck buying brand new ones at the kiddie shoe stores. I mean, it's worth it to get shoes that really fit William's feet and are comfortable for him to wear. But when you have to buy more than one pair at a time, it's painful, financially speaking.
Mr. Randy at the shoe store did point out that both pairs I purchased are very sturdy shoes and it's very likely I could hand down at least the dress shoes to Andrew in a few years. True. If William doesn't destroy them first, which is not a foregone conclusion. In the past William had a not-so-charming habit of dragging his feet across the asphalt parking lot at church, resulting in big dark welts gouged into the tops of his nice church shoes. He hasn't done it as much in recent months, but I won't hold my breath that he won't find some other creative way to break in his nice new shoes.
And I am going to start cruising eBay and the Stride Rite website for sales on wide shoes for small boys. And Nashville folks, if you see any boys' shoes at a consignment sale in decent shape in a 12.5, call me and let me know.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The birthday boy and his cake
On Wednesday, William and I picked out a Sesame Street birthday cake at Publix, and the cake came with a free "smash cake" for Andrew to have all to himself. We picked them up this morning, along with a Sesame Street balloon, and prepared for Andrew's first birthday party, which we had this evening.
And what would a first birthday party be without a camera, right?
Here, Andrew was thinking, "Here I am, all cute in my birthday bib and crown, mugging for the camera! Hi, Mom!"
But then I put the cake in front of him, and I could practically hear him thinking, "Vot? Vot ees dees theeng? Vy ees she putting eet in front of meeeee? No! NOOOOOOO!"
(He doesn't always have a bad German accent in my head, just so you know.)
And finally, Andrew grudgingly gave the frosting a try. He seemed to like it. The cake, maybe not so much, but the frosting was a qualified success. There was no euphoric "CAKE!" moment like William had when he was eating his first birthday cake, but at least he was interested. I should note that this is the kid who would rather eat cold green peas from the fridge more than almost anything else on earth. He'll casually throw Cheerios and banana pieces onto the floor, but he almost never tosses peas onto the floor.
Of course, then he started flinging handfuls of icing and cake off the highchair tray and onto the floor. All done.
He liked his present from William more than the frosting, though.
And he liked playing with his daddy the best of all.
Needless to say, Andrew was plumb tuckered out by the end of the evening.
(I had to use a nice down-home folksy phrase like "plumb tuckered out" because he was just so darn cute that it deserved that type of phrase. Don't you reckon so?)
Onward toward William's fifth birthday, I guess. I have an almost-two-month breather to get ready for whatever that ends up being.
And what would a first birthday party be without a camera, right?
Here, Andrew was thinking, "Here I am, all cute in my birthday bib and crown, mugging for the camera! Hi, Mom!"
But then I put the cake in front of him, and I could practically hear him thinking, "Vot? Vot ees dees theeng? Vy ees she putting eet in front of meeeee? No! NOOOOOOO!"
(He doesn't always have a bad German accent in my head, just so you know.)
And finally, Andrew grudgingly gave the frosting a try. He seemed to like it. The cake, maybe not so much, but the frosting was a qualified success. There was no euphoric "CAKE!" moment like William had when he was eating his first birthday cake, but at least he was interested. I should note that this is the kid who would rather eat cold green peas from the fridge more than almost anything else on earth. He'll casually throw Cheerios and banana pieces onto the floor, but he almost never tosses peas onto the floor.
Of course, then he started flinging handfuls of icing and cake off the highchair tray and onto the floor. All done.
He liked his present from William more than the frosting, though.
And he liked playing with his daddy the best of all.
Needless to say, Andrew was plumb tuckered out by the end of the evening.
(I had to use a nice down-home folksy phrase like "plumb tuckered out" because he was just so darn cute that it deserved that type of phrase. Don't you reckon so?)
Onward toward William's fifth birthday, I guess. I have an almost-two-month breather to get ready for whatever that ends up being.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Andrew turns one: a retrospective
How did my baby boy go from this....
...to this, in just twelve short months?
Hard to believe it's been an entire year since the cold February morning when David and I went to the hospital in anticipation of our second son's birth. I remember lying propped up in the bed in the labor and delivery room and watching the snow fall outside my window. I remember looking over at the warmer across the room and thinking, with a shock, "Oh my God, there's going to be a baby on that in a little while. My baby!" Andrew ended up being born by c-section later on, at 6:31 p.m.
And here he is, a year old. I can't believe it! In some ways, and I know this will sound weird, he seems younger at one year than William did. Is it because I still have William around, only now he's nearly five and does nearly-five-year-old things that contrast so sharply with what a one-year-old does? Maybe.
Regardless, I'm delighted that Andrew is one. I feel like I made it over a major hurdle. I kept my child alive until at least his first birthday. Woohoo!
On Easter:
Super Brothers!
Last spring, in a dressing gown made by my friend Betsy:
On the Fourth of July:
Playing with Daddy:
With William at Grandaddy Bill's house last October:
Pumpkin Baby:
Andrew and William conferring over when they think Santa Claus is going to arrive:
In the bathtub last week, wearing a foam letter on his head, courtesy of William:
This morning, in his birthday shirt, if not his birthday suit:
Happy birthday, big guy. I'm so glad that you came to join our family.
...to this, in just twelve short months?
Hard to believe it's been an entire year since the cold February morning when David and I went to the hospital in anticipation of our second son's birth. I remember lying propped up in the bed in the labor and delivery room and watching the snow fall outside my window. I remember looking over at the warmer across the room and thinking, with a shock, "Oh my God, there's going to be a baby on that in a little while. My baby!" Andrew ended up being born by c-section later on, at 6:31 p.m.
And here he is, a year old. I can't believe it! In some ways, and I know this will sound weird, he seems younger at one year than William did. Is it because I still have William around, only now he's nearly five and does nearly-five-year-old things that contrast so sharply with what a one-year-old does? Maybe.
Regardless, I'm delighted that Andrew is one. I feel like I made it over a major hurdle. I kept my child alive until at least his first birthday. Woohoo!
On Easter:
Super Brothers!
Last spring, in a dressing gown made by my friend Betsy:
On the Fourth of July:
Playing with Daddy:
With William at Grandaddy Bill's house last October:
Pumpkin Baby:
Andrew and William conferring over when they think Santa Claus is going to arrive:
In the bathtub last week, wearing a foam letter on his head, courtesy of William:
This morning, in his birthday shirt, if not his birthday suit:
Happy birthday, big guy. I'm so glad that you came to join our family.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Happy birthday to two very important women
Happy early birthday to my mother-in-law, Diane, and to my mother, Judi!
Diane's birthday is Monday, February 21, and Mom's birthday is Tuesday, February 22. No, despite intense lobbying, neither was able to convince a then-in-utero Andrew to be born on her birthday last year. (His big day is Thursday.)
One reason that Diane is very special to me is because she alone of all my family members reads what I write. My grandmother, Mama Lou, also used to read what I wrote. She even subscribed to the newspapers I wrote for. But of course, she is gone now. But I am not writing into empty space. Despite being very busy, Diane always reads all my blogs and she often even makes comments on them. It's nice to know that someone out there not only cares that I have written something but takes the time to read it and say something about it. Something thoughtful and nice, even! (Hint, hint, Mom and Daddy. And David. And John. And...)So thank you, Diane, and have a most deservedly happy birthday!
Mom may not read what I write but she did at least help build the foundation for helping me learn to read and write--and to love doing so. When I was a little girl, she used to drive me around to all the public libraries so I could check out my favorite books. Over and over. We drove to the Homewood library to get the Lotta Crabtree biography, and we drove to the Vestavia Hills library to get the Amelia Earhart book and all the books in the Carolyn Haywood "B is for Betsy" series. We went all the way downtown to the Birmingham library to get some random ballet books that I don't remember too much about now except that I really loved them 30 years ago. Thanks, Mom, for humoring me and encouraging me to love the written word. Happy birthday to you!
Here's a photo taken after we celebrated Diane's birthday with dinner and cupcakes this evening. See, everyone's happy! Well, everyone was happy and William was full of cupcakes and icing.
Diane's birthday is Monday, February 21, and Mom's birthday is Tuesday, February 22. No, despite intense lobbying, neither was able to convince a then-in-utero Andrew to be born on her birthday last year. (His big day is Thursday.)
One reason that Diane is very special to me is because she alone of all my family members reads what I write. My grandmother, Mama Lou, also used to read what I wrote. She even subscribed to the newspapers I wrote for. But of course, she is gone now. But I am not writing into empty space. Despite being very busy, Diane always reads all my blogs and she often even makes comments on them. It's nice to know that someone out there not only cares that I have written something but takes the time to read it and say something about it. Something thoughtful and nice, even! (Hint, hint, Mom and Daddy. And David. And John. And...)So thank you, Diane, and have a most deservedly happy birthday!
Mom may not read what I write but she did at least help build the foundation for helping me learn to read and write--and to love doing so. When I was a little girl, she used to drive me around to all the public libraries so I could check out my favorite books. Over and over. We drove to the Homewood library to get the Lotta Crabtree biography, and we drove to the Vestavia Hills library to get the Amelia Earhart book and all the books in the Carolyn Haywood "B is for Betsy" series. We went all the way downtown to the Birmingham library to get some random ballet books that I don't remember too much about now except that I really loved them 30 years ago. Thanks, Mom, for humoring me and encouraging me to love the written word. Happy birthday to you!
Here's a photo taken after we celebrated Diane's birthday with dinner and cupcakes this evening. See, everyone's happy! Well, everyone was happy and William was full of cupcakes and icing.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Mama
Andrew just said "Mama!"
And he said it to me! I mean, I think he said "Mama" deliberately and he actually meant me when he said it!
Could I use any more exclamation points?!!
And he said it to me! I mean, I think he said "Mama" deliberately and he actually meant me when he said it!
Could I use any more exclamation points?!!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Andrew on Food
I'm learning that it's absurd to expect Andrew to be even the slighest bit like William.
Case in point: Andrew and William hold radically different positions on a matter of utmost importance. Food.
For example, cheese. On Friday night, I cut up a few cubes of cheese and dumped them onto Andrew's high chair tray. He immediately began swirling them around on the tray with both hands, knocking several pieces to the floor. After awhile, he gingerly tasted one piece, then spat it out and dropped it on the floor. He commenced swirling again. Eventually, he tried a different piece, worked it around in his mouth for a nanosecond or two, then dribbled it down the front of his bib. More swirling. You can see where this is going. A little while later, I was grimly hunched over, picking up all the bits of cheese off the floor from under the table and high chair.
Contrast that with what William would have done at the same age: he would have gobbled up every morsel of cheese as fast as he possibly could, then gestured wildly for more. Then he would have snarfed up the second helping of cheese and looked around for even more.
I know. It's taken me this long for the light bulb to finally flicker on. Hey, wow, they really ARE different!
Andrew seems to be a pickier eater than William, but he also seems to eat less food in general, even the food that he really likes.
Of course, I wouldn't say that Andrew is a picky eater, per se, at least not yet. He'll eat any and all baby food, from the green beans to the prunes to the meats. He loves his crackers, his Cheerios, toast, chicken sticks, bananas, bits of sweet potato and yogurt. He loves to hold a Ritz cracker with both hands and nibble it up, like a little mouse. And while he didn't care for avocado chunks, he was more than happy to eat mushed-up avocado on a spoon. He even gobbled up some smushed peas from my plate at dinner, picking them out from between pieces of canned peaches.
Speaking of canned peaches, he's admittedly lukewarm at best on canned fruit. But I'm wondering if that's a texture issue more than anything. David pointed out, quite correctly, that canned fruit can be a little slimy--or at least extremely slippery. When the weather warms up, and the seasonal fruit improves, I wonder if he might discover he really likes pluots, strawberries, and watermelon.
I guess I've just gotten spoiled by William. William ate with gusto from the time he started eating, and he's never looked back. He eats supreme-style pizza, with the onions, green peppers, pepperoni, sausage, and olives. He adores sugar snap peas, green beans, and broccoli. He's never met a fruit he didn't like. Of course he loves all cookies, cake and ice cream, even the more unusual flavors like pumpkin. He's very easy to please, in fact, when it comes to food. He can nearly always find something the he likes, and he tends to enjoy the vast majority of what he eats. Pretty much he'll eat anything except for lettuce. And who's going to insist that a four-year-old eat lettuce?
So William may be the outlier. And Andrew's more likely to be a typical kid, when it comes to food. He may not be as picky as his Uncle John, who up and decided out of the blue that he didn't like cheese when he was three years old and has not voluntarily eaten cheese in the 30 subsequent years. But he may not be a human garbage disposal like his big brother.
Case in point: Andrew and William hold radically different positions on a matter of utmost importance. Food.
For example, cheese. On Friday night, I cut up a few cubes of cheese and dumped them onto Andrew's high chair tray. He immediately began swirling them around on the tray with both hands, knocking several pieces to the floor. After awhile, he gingerly tasted one piece, then spat it out and dropped it on the floor. He commenced swirling again. Eventually, he tried a different piece, worked it around in his mouth for a nanosecond or two, then dribbled it down the front of his bib. More swirling. You can see where this is going. A little while later, I was grimly hunched over, picking up all the bits of cheese off the floor from under the table and high chair.
Contrast that with what William would have done at the same age: he would have gobbled up every morsel of cheese as fast as he possibly could, then gestured wildly for more. Then he would have snarfed up the second helping of cheese and looked around for even more.
I know. It's taken me this long for the light bulb to finally flicker on. Hey, wow, they really ARE different!
Andrew seems to be a pickier eater than William, but he also seems to eat less food in general, even the food that he really likes.
Of course, I wouldn't say that Andrew is a picky eater, per se, at least not yet. He'll eat any and all baby food, from the green beans to the prunes to the meats. He loves his crackers, his Cheerios, toast, chicken sticks, bananas, bits of sweet potato and yogurt. He loves to hold a Ritz cracker with both hands and nibble it up, like a little mouse. And while he didn't care for avocado chunks, he was more than happy to eat mushed-up avocado on a spoon. He even gobbled up some smushed peas from my plate at dinner, picking them out from between pieces of canned peaches.
Speaking of canned peaches, he's admittedly lukewarm at best on canned fruit. But I'm wondering if that's a texture issue more than anything. David pointed out, quite correctly, that canned fruit can be a little slimy--or at least extremely slippery. When the weather warms up, and the seasonal fruit improves, I wonder if he might discover he really likes pluots, strawberries, and watermelon.
I guess I've just gotten spoiled by William. William ate with gusto from the time he started eating, and he's never looked back. He eats supreme-style pizza, with the onions, green peppers, pepperoni, sausage, and olives. He adores sugar snap peas, green beans, and broccoli. He's never met a fruit he didn't like. Of course he loves all cookies, cake and ice cream, even the more unusual flavors like pumpkin. He's very easy to please, in fact, when it comes to food. He can nearly always find something the he likes, and he tends to enjoy the vast majority of what he eats. Pretty much he'll eat anything except for lettuce. And who's going to insist that a four-year-old eat lettuce?
So William may be the outlier. And Andrew's more likely to be a typical kid, when it comes to food. He may not be as picky as his Uncle John, who up and decided out of the blue that he didn't like cheese when he was three years old and has not voluntarily eaten cheese in the 30 subsequent years. But he may not be a human garbage disposal like his big brother.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Super (Toilet) Bowl
My witty husband posted on Facebook yesterday that it wasn't really Super Bowl Sunday here; it was more like Super Toilet Bowl Sunday.
That's because William, bless his heart, had the stomach flu. I guess it's a good thing we hadn't planned to invite any friends over to watch the game.
We should have known something was up when he turned down pizza at lunch. He asked for peach yogurt and then only ate a few bites. Seriously, that's like alarm bells going off, and neither David nor I picked up on it. I guess we're out of the habit.
There was a time, though, when I would have noticed right away. When he was about Andrew's age, there was this one day that William was starting to get sick. I called David at work in a panic. David knows that I rarely ever call him at work, so he almost always takes my calls. Cautiously he asked me what was wrong.
"William's sick!" I bellowed.
Calmly, David reassured me that he might be sick but he'd probably be fine. He sounded relieved that nothing appeared to be emergently wrong.
"No, you don't understand!" I shouted. "He won't EAT CHEESE!"
"Bring him RIGHT IN!" was David's panicked response.
But there we were yesterday, not even thinking anything about William handing off that slice of Cowboy Pizza to David. William turning down pizza. Yeah. That was so obvious that I am smacking myself in the head for not realizing it right away.
William's Sunday School teacher and my friend Kate emailed me today to let me know that he had briefly mentioned feeling sick during Sunday School yesterday morning. But nothing came of it at the time, and he'd already probably exposed everyone in the vicinity to whatever bug he was carrying.
I Lysol-ed the hell out of everything in the house, not including David and Andrew. I cleaned the fixtures in the bathroom and the toilet seat every time William went near them (which was often). When he wasn't actively being sick, William lay on the couch, still and wan. It would have broken your heart to see him. He usually idles at such a high speed, and he was so sick, it was like someone had flipped a switch and turned him off.
Anyway, William bounced back just fine. He about drove me nuts today. No, I told him, you can't have yogurt-covered raisins. Yes, you can watch "The Empire Strikes Back." No, you can't have yogurt. Yes, I will read the volcano book to you. And will you please stop hugging and kissing on your little brother?
Andrew, knock on wood, seems to be doing just fine. Did I mention that he has two teeth now and adores Ritz Crackers? William is now calling him Ritz Cracker. Yes, that's a compliment; William adores Ritz Crackers. And he ate about 100 today.
That's because William, bless his heart, had the stomach flu. I guess it's a good thing we hadn't planned to invite any friends over to watch the game.
We should have known something was up when he turned down pizza at lunch. He asked for peach yogurt and then only ate a few bites. Seriously, that's like alarm bells going off, and neither David nor I picked up on it. I guess we're out of the habit.
There was a time, though, when I would have noticed right away. When he was about Andrew's age, there was this one day that William was starting to get sick. I called David at work in a panic. David knows that I rarely ever call him at work, so he almost always takes my calls. Cautiously he asked me what was wrong.
"William's sick!" I bellowed.
Calmly, David reassured me that he might be sick but he'd probably be fine. He sounded relieved that nothing appeared to be emergently wrong.
"No, you don't understand!" I shouted. "He won't EAT CHEESE!"
"Bring him RIGHT IN!" was David's panicked response.
But there we were yesterday, not even thinking anything about William handing off that slice of Cowboy Pizza to David. William turning down pizza. Yeah. That was so obvious that I am smacking myself in the head for not realizing it right away.
William's Sunday School teacher and my friend Kate emailed me today to let me know that he had briefly mentioned feeling sick during Sunday School yesterday morning. But nothing came of it at the time, and he'd already probably exposed everyone in the vicinity to whatever bug he was carrying.
I Lysol-ed the hell out of everything in the house, not including David and Andrew. I cleaned the fixtures in the bathroom and the toilet seat every time William went near them (which was often). When he wasn't actively being sick, William lay on the couch, still and wan. It would have broken your heart to see him. He usually idles at such a high speed, and he was so sick, it was like someone had flipped a switch and turned him off.
Anyway, William bounced back just fine. He about drove me nuts today. No, I told him, you can't have yogurt-covered raisins. Yes, you can watch "The Empire Strikes Back." No, you can't have yogurt. Yes, I will read the volcano book to you. And will you please stop hugging and kissing on your little brother?
Andrew, knock on wood, seems to be doing just fine. Did I mention that he has two teeth now and adores Ritz Crackers? William is now calling him Ritz Cracker. Yes, that's a compliment; William adores Ritz Crackers. And he ate about 100 today.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Money changes everything
We are experimenting with giving William an allowance.
A couple of weeks ago, I gave William the penny that was left over when I paid $1.10 for the $1.09 large Diet Coke at McDonald's. I've been doing this for months now. Sometimes he squirrels the penny away in his pocket, sometimes he drops it somewhere in the minivan where it rolls around for awhile, and other times...well, I don't know where the pennies go. But at any rate, the other day, he said that he wanted to get dollars.
I thought about that for a minute. The parenting experts are always saying how great it is to give kids an allowance and teach them the value of money. I tried to remember how old the kids needed to be, ideally, but finally concluded that William was probably old enough to get a basic introduction.
"Okay," I told him. "I'll tell you what. You can earn dollars. How about that?"
And I thought fast. What could a four-year-old do to earn money? I mean, realistically speaking?
"If you make your bed every morning after you get up, and then you pick up all your toys in the family room every night before you take your bath, and you do all that for a week, you can earn a whole dollar," I concluded.
William enthusiastically agreed. He already knows how to make his bed, and he certainly knows how to pick up toys, even if he doesn't enjoy doing it.
So a day or so later, I made a very basic chart on a piece of construction paper, with three columns: one for the day, one for bed, one for toys. He is supposed to make a checkmark in the appropriate columns for each day. Of course, what I didn't stop to think about was the fact that, oh yeah, William can't read the days of the week yet. But luckily for me, he's motivated enough to either ask or to figure it out based on the first letter of the word.
(Side note: I think he'll be reading the days of the week before long anyway. He claims he can't read, but then I've caught him reading random words that I didn't even know he knew. Today at the zoo, he read the word "exit" on a sign that was located nowhere near an exit. And he read the word "recycle" posted above a recyle bin. Of course, last week, he also read the word "beer" on a Budweiser truck parked in a gas station parking lot that we passed on the way to school. I was torn between being proud and being a little bemused. I went with proud. You don't have to actually drink beer to be able to spell "beer," right? And NO, it's not like he's seeing David and me drink lots of beer at home. David and I almost never drink beer. Certainly never cheap domestic beer out of a can. Shudder. Um, I can explain the bottles of Sam Adams in the fridge, though...)
So tonight, he checked off the blank for the "toys" category for Saturday. He's made (legitimate) checkmarks in all of the "bed" blanks since Tuesday, and he's got checkmarks in most of the "toys" blanks, too. He's been really good about making his bed without being asked, but getting him to clean up his toys at night has taken a little more effort (read: maybe just a tiny little bit of yelling and threatening).
Still, overall, I'm really proud of him. I think I'm going to go ahead and give him his first dollar tomorrow--after he makes his bed, of course. I know that he missed a couple of the "toys" blanks earlier in the week, but it was his first week. I think he's getting on board, and I think that getting his first dollar will really motivate him to keep doing it.
I plan to let him just enjoy his first dollar or two. Then we'll start talking about saving part of his allowance each week. "They" (you know: the Parenting Experts) recommend that children be taught to save part of any money they receive. And I think that's a good idea. But in order to do that this time around, I'd have to dig up four quarters, and honey child, that just ain't happenin' tonight. I'm just feeling good that I actually have a real dollar bill that I can give to William tomorrow.
Maybe by the time Andrew's old enough for chores, I'll have gotten this whole enterprise all figured out. Luckily, that's aways off. Right now, I'm just trying to keep money away from Andrew so he doesn't eat it. And wow, I can't believe that William's getting an allowance. How crazy is that? It's like he's almost five or something...oh, wait...
(By the way, a special award to anyone who remembers which song I stole this blog post title from! You can have...the penny left over from my next fountain Diet Coke. William won't need it anymore.)
A couple of weeks ago, I gave William the penny that was left over when I paid $1.10 for the $1.09 large Diet Coke at McDonald's. I've been doing this for months now. Sometimes he squirrels the penny away in his pocket, sometimes he drops it somewhere in the minivan where it rolls around for awhile, and other times...well, I don't know where the pennies go. But at any rate, the other day, he said that he wanted to get dollars.
I thought about that for a minute. The parenting experts are always saying how great it is to give kids an allowance and teach them the value of money. I tried to remember how old the kids needed to be, ideally, but finally concluded that William was probably old enough to get a basic introduction.
"Okay," I told him. "I'll tell you what. You can earn dollars. How about that?"
And I thought fast. What could a four-year-old do to earn money? I mean, realistically speaking?
"If you make your bed every morning after you get up, and then you pick up all your toys in the family room every night before you take your bath, and you do all that for a week, you can earn a whole dollar," I concluded.
William enthusiastically agreed. He already knows how to make his bed, and he certainly knows how to pick up toys, even if he doesn't enjoy doing it.
So a day or so later, I made a very basic chart on a piece of construction paper, with three columns: one for the day, one for bed, one for toys. He is supposed to make a checkmark in the appropriate columns for each day. Of course, what I didn't stop to think about was the fact that, oh yeah, William can't read the days of the week yet. But luckily for me, he's motivated enough to either ask or to figure it out based on the first letter of the word.
(Side note: I think he'll be reading the days of the week before long anyway. He claims he can't read, but then I've caught him reading random words that I didn't even know he knew. Today at the zoo, he read the word "exit" on a sign that was located nowhere near an exit. And he read the word "recycle" posted above a recyle bin. Of course, last week, he also read the word "beer" on a Budweiser truck parked in a gas station parking lot that we passed on the way to school. I was torn between being proud and being a little bemused. I went with proud. You don't have to actually drink beer to be able to spell "beer," right? And NO, it's not like he's seeing David and me drink lots of beer at home. David and I almost never drink beer. Certainly never cheap domestic beer out of a can. Shudder. Um, I can explain the bottles of Sam Adams in the fridge, though...)
So tonight, he checked off the blank for the "toys" category for Saturday. He's made (legitimate) checkmarks in all of the "bed" blanks since Tuesday, and he's got checkmarks in most of the "toys" blanks, too. He's been really good about making his bed without being asked, but getting him to clean up his toys at night has taken a little more effort (read: maybe just a tiny little bit of yelling and threatening).
Still, overall, I'm really proud of him. I think I'm going to go ahead and give him his first dollar tomorrow--after he makes his bed, of course. I know that he missed a couple of the "toys" blanks earlier in the week, but it was his first week. I think he's getting on board, and I think that getting his first dollar will really motivate him to keep doing it.
I plan to let him just enjoy his first dollar or two. Then we'll start talking about saving part of his allowance each week. "They" (you know: the Parenting Experts) recommend that children be taught to save part of any money they receive. And I think that's a good idea. But in order to do that this time around, I'd have to dig up four quarters, and honey child, that just ain't happenin' tonight. I'm just feeling good that I actually have a real dollar bill that I can give to William tomorrow.
Maybe by the time Andrew's old enough for chores, I'll have gotten this whole enterprise all figured out. Luckily, that's aways off. Right now, I'm just trying to keep money away from Andrew so he doesn't eat it. And wow, I can't believe that William's getting an allowance. How crazy is that? It's like he's almost five or something...oh, wait...
(By the way, a special award to anyone who remembers which song I stole this blog post title from! You can have...the penny left over from my next fountain Diet Coke. William won't need it anymore.)
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Almost a snow day...but not quite
Here's how you know we've had a metric ton of snow this year...
Okay, let me ratchet down the hyperbole a bit. Here's how you know that Nashville has had an unusually high number of snow days this winter: I've stopped taking pictures every time there's any measurable snowfall.
We had a snow day last Friday. We almost had a snow day today (there's snow on the ground, but God heard my prayers and made sure the roads were clear and the preschool was open). We've had numerous other snow days recently, which I've mostly chronicled or mentioned here.
And yet this is the only picture I've taken in the last week or two:
I couldn't even work up the energy to dress William up and have him run out into the backyard for a few quick photos. He quite reasonably said that he preferred to stay inside where it was warm and where he wouldn't get wet.
I posted the following on my Facebook status last week: Here's how I know that Nashville is tired of snow. No one is even out playing in it, and yet it's a beautiful blue-skied (if extremely cold) day.
And sure enough, everyone in this little corner of the world pretty much stayed inside. We ventured out that afternoon to go to the YMCA so I could burn off some of my winter fat.
Last night, when the forecasts were all calling for as many as five inches of snow, everyone was posting woe-is-me updates on Facebook. My friends and fellow parents were hoping desperately for the schools to be open. Others were praying for the bad weather to just pass us by altogether. Well, we got the crummy weather, but at least my son's school was open today.
Listen to me, saying that snow is "crummy weather"! I never thought I'd do that. And I guess I don't really think it's that bad. As I told William today, I actually love the way a snow-covered world looks. I was delighting over the fine ridges of snow that cling to the tree branches this morning at the breakfast table. I love the way the snow is heaped on top of the sticker bushes out front.
I guess I'm just tired of the disrupted routine. We all seem to function better with a routine. Just like babies and children function better with clear boundaries and early bedtimes. One or two snow days are fun. Three is still okay. But you start getting more than that, and it just gets old.
So I'm just glad that today we got the pretty snow AND we got to stick to the routine (more or less).
Okay, let me ratchet down the hyperbole a bit. Here's how you know that Nashville has had an unusually high number of snow days this winter: I've stopped taking pictures every time there's any measurable snowfall.
We had a snow day last Friday. We almost had a snow day today (there's snow on the ground, but God heard my prayers and made sure the roads were clear and the preschool was open). We've had numerous other snow days recently, which I've mostly chronicled or mentioned here.
And yet this is the only picture I've taken in the last week or two:
I couldn't even work up the energy to dress William up and have him run out into the backyard for a few quick photos. He quite reasonably said that he preferred to stay inside where it was warm and where he wouldn't get wet.
I posted the following on my Facebook status last week: Here's how I know that Nashville is tired of snow. No one is even out playing in it, and yet it's a beautiful blue-skied (if extremely cold) day.
And sure enough, everyone in this little corner of the world pretty much stayed inside. We ventured out that afternoon to go to the YMCA so I could burn off some of my winter fat.
Last night, when the forecasts were all calling for as many as five inches of snow, everyone was posting woe-is-me updates on Facebook. My friends and fellow parents were hoping desperately for the schools to be open. Others were praying for the bad weather to just pass us by altogether. Well, we got the crummy weather, but at least my son's school was open today.
Listen to me, saying that snow is "crummy weather"! I never thought I'd do that. And I guess I don't really think it's that bad. As I told William today, I actually love the way a snow-covered world looks. I was delighting over the fine ridges of snow that cling to the tree branches this morning at the breakfast table. I love the way the snow is heaped on top of the sticker bushes out front.
I guess I'm just tired of the disrupted routine. We all seem to function better with a routine. Just like babies and children function better with clear boundaries and early bedtimes. One or two snow days are fun. Three is still okay. But you start getting more than that, and it just gets old.
So I'm just glad that today we got the pretty snow AND we got to stick to the routine (more or less).
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Snow Days? How About Snow Week?
We are on our third major snowfall of the season. We're almost blase about snow now. "Oh, look, it's snowing again," one of us might say, casually. Or might not because it's so unremarkable by now.
But this one was actually a significant event by Tennessee standards (meaning that we got significant accumulation...for Tennessee). We only got three or four inches at our house, I think, but some parts of the state got as much as a foot of snow. That's Serious Snow in the Volunteer State, kids.
Like every other school in Middle Tennessee, William's preschool was out on Monday and Tuesday. We just had a long Christmas vacation, and we spent a lot of time together inside. Then we got snow and spent...more time together inside. William likes to play in the snow the first day, but even then, he's not keen on staying out there for very long. And I can understand. It's cold out there. We don't really have the most appropriate clothing for snowy weather. And you get wet playing in the snow if you're out there for a long time in makeshift snow gear. It's all fun and games until you're cold and wet.
So we stayed inside for the most part. Thus the email from preschool saying that it would be open on Wednesday came as a welcome relief. We joyfully piled into the minivan, and I dropped him off at school. Woot! It did not come a moment too soon. Even if no one else had it, I know that I had cabin fever. It was nice to both 1) get out of the house and 2) get a short break from all the constant indoor togetherness.
Knowing that I might only get one good opportunity to get some William-in-Snow photos, though, I even got out in the snowy front yard in my pajamas, coat, and boots to snap a few quick pictures for your viewing pleasure on Monday.
Here are David and William, preparing to take a toboggan ride:
And here's William with his very first snowman!
Yeah, that's about the size of the snowmen that we build here in Tennessee, or in the South in general. I built a similarly-sized snowman in Birmingham, actually, in 1987 when we got about the same amount of snow.
Side note: We do have some neighbors here who were very ambitious and rolled up a large amount of the snow in their yards to build four-foot-tall snowmen, though. They're pretty impressive...or were, until some teenaged vandals (I'm guessing) took a late-night spin through the neighborhood and knocked down snowmen. The homeowners' association email list-serve is all aflutter over this.
So we enjoyed the snow, we enjoyed the snow days, and now I'm glad that we're back to our usual routine.
But I'll tell you. I'm really feeling for the parents with kids in the public schools; they're STILL out. Oy. I'm dreading next year when we have inclement weather and William's out of school for days on end. I read the school system's explanation of why they opt to cancel school on certain days, but I still think they're overreaching. I mean, yes, I understand that safety is of paramount concern, and certain roads are icy, and all that. I get it. But the school district only builds five snow days into its calendar per year, and they've already exceeded it by two days. Actually, perhaps that is what I should take issue with: the district not putting enough snow days on the calendar. I'm feeling an email coming on.
But this one was actually a significant event by Tennessee standards (meaning that we got significant accumulation...for Tennessee). We only got three or four inches at our house, I think, but some parts of the state got as much as a foot of snow. That's Serious Snow in the Volunteer State, kids.
Like every other school in Middle Tennessee, William's preschool was out on Monday and Tuesday. We just had a long Christmas vacation, and we spent a lot of time together inside. Then we got snow and spent...more time together inside. William likes to play in the snow the first day, but even then, he's not keen on staying out there for very long. And I can understand. It's cold out there. We don't really have the most appropriate clothing for snowy weather. And you get wet playing in the snow if you're out there for a long time in makeshift snow gear. It's all fun and games until you're cold and wet.
So we stayed inside for the most part. Thus the email from preschool saying that it would be open on Wednesday came as a welcome relief. We joyfully piled into the minivan, and I dropped him off at school. Woot! It did not come a moment too soon. Even if no one else had it, I know that I had cabin fever. It was nice to both 1) get out of the house and 2) get a short break from all the constant indoor togetherness.
Knowing that I might only get one good opportunity to get some William-in-Snow photos, though, I even got out in the snowy front yard in my pajamas, coat, and boots to snap a few quick pictures for your viewing pleasure on Monday.
Here are David and William, preparing to take a toboggan ride:
And here's William with his very first snowman!
Yeah, that's about the size of the snowmen that we build here in Tennessee, or in the South in general. I built a similarly-sized snowman in Birmingham, actually, in 1987 when we got about the same amount of snow.
Side note: We do have some neighbors here who were very ambitious and rolled up a large amount of the snow in their yards to build four-foot-tall snowmen, though. They're pretty impressive...or were, until some teenaged vandals (I'm guessing) took a late-night spin through the neighborhood and knocked down snowmen. The homeowners' association email list-serve is all aflutter over this.
So we enjoyed the snow, we enjoyed the snow days, and now I'm glad that we're back to our usual routine.
But I'll tell you. I'm really feeling for the parents with kids in the public schools; they're STILL out. Oy. I'm dreading next year when we have inclement weather and William's out of school for days on end. I read the school system's explanation of why they opt to cancel school on certain days, but I still think they're overreaching. I mean, yes, I understand that safety is of paramount concern, and certain roads are icy, and all that. I get it. But the school district only builds five snow days into its calendar per year, and they've already exceeded it by two days. Actually, perhaps that is what I should take issue with: the district not putting enough snow days on the calendar. I'm feeling an email coming on.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
All About Andrew, Aging
I feel like I don't record nearly enough of the little things that happen in Andrew's life for my own enjoyment later on. Most of my posts on this blog that first year of William's life were those sort of posts, and it's fun now to go back and reread them. A lot of those events are kind of a blur in my mind now, so it's nice to have a history all written out for me by a reliable source. (Heh.)
So this post is all about Andrew, who is growing up fast.
Case in point(s):
1. He has a tooth. His first tooth began poking up from his gum just after Christmas. Now it's there and making itself known. In related news, I don't know how I am going to make it to the one-year mark for breastfeeding. Draw your own conclusions there.
2. David lowered his crib mattress yesterday. The next time he has a new sleeping situation, it'll be a Big Boy Bed. Eep.
3. He's all about the Big People Food. Last week, I scrolled back through this blog to read what I was feeding William at about the same age. William was eating toast and crackers and diced fruit and chicken sticks and cheese and Cheerios, and all sorts of stuff. I felt terribly guilty that I've been holding out on Andrew. Was I unintentionally babying him because he is the baby? I don't know. Immediately I went to the pantry for supplies. I dumped part of a can of fruit cocktail on his highchair tray, and he went to town. He liked the Cheerios too. And the chicken sticks were a big hit.
4. He knows about the stairs. I just walked downstairs with an overflowing laundry basket. William was on the stairs singing down to his brother, who was on his hands and knees at the foot of the staircase. Except that his hands were not on the floor. They were on the stair, and he was rocking forward.
Oh my goodness, he's doing it again! Excuse me.
So this post is all about Andrew, who is growing up fast.
Case in point(s):
1. He has a tooth. His first tooth began poking up from his gum just after Christmas. Now it's there and making itself known. In related news, I don't know how I am going to make it to the one-year mark for breastfeeding. Draw your own conclusions there.
2. David lowered his crib mattress yesterday. The next time he has a new sleeping situation, it'll be a Big Boy Bed. Eep.
3. He's all about the Big People Food. Last week, I scrolled back through this blog to read what I was feeding William at about the same age. William was eating toast and crackers and diced fruit and chicken sticks and cheese and Cheerios, and all sorts of stuff. I felt terribly guilty that I've been holding out on Andrew. Was I unintentionally babying him because he is the baby? I don't know. Immediately I went to the pantry for supplies. I dumped part of a can of fruit cocktail on his highchair tray, and he went to town. He liked the Cheerios too. And the chicken sticks were a big hit.
4. He knows about the stairs. I just walked downstairs with an overflowing laundry basket. William was on the stairs singing down to his brother, who was on his hands and knees at the foot of the staircase. Except that his hands were not on the floor. They were on the stair, and he was rocking forward.
Oh my goodness, he's doing it again! Excuse me.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
The Lego Infestation
Have you ever had ants in your house?
When we lived in California, there were always a few times each year that we'd get a steady stream of ants from our patio into our kitchen. Some people claimed that the ants were coming in to seek water. Which, given the desert that we lived in, made sense, if it was true. But whatever the reason that we were inunudated, we had to deal with the problem. That usually required some spraying, some ant traps and some vigilance. Usually that took care of most of them, but we always seemed to miss a few stragglers. So annoying.
Well. We may not have the same trouble with ants here in Tennessee, but we do have another minor scourge that we can't seem to keep fully contained. That's right. I'm talking about Legoes. (Legos? Lego bricks? Whatever.)
I'm here to tell you that it is nearly impossible to contain a Lego outbreak. It is insidious.
Yesterday, I had to wrestle Andrew to get a Lego minifigure helmet out of his hand. He objected. Loudly. Last week, I had to fish a tiny Star Wars Lego lightsaber out of his mouth. And this is all after David and William did a full sweep through the house and picked up Legoes from the floor of every room in the house. (Seriously. They were in every room in the house, save for Andrew's room. And I wouldn't swear in court that it's entirely Lego-free either.) They piled Lego bricks in bags and bins and boxes. They put Lego creations on the tops of shelves and tables. They tried to keep all the new Christmas-stocking Lego toys contained to either William's room or the playroom.
But every time I started to think, "Okay. We've finally got all the Lego stuff put away out of Andrew's reach," then I'd stumble across a tiny little piece embedded in the carpet somewhere. Or tucked away in a basket of toys on the floor. Or hiding beneath the plastic dishes in the toy kitchen in the family room. Or hanging out behind a chair that Andrew can easily crawl under.
It is nearly impossible to eradicate Legoes from one's house, once you are infected...er, infested...er, overrun....er, inundated with them. The best I can do is to just keep my eyes open for them and try to get to them before Andrew does.
Also, I am thinking about getting out my DustBuster and vacuuming up any stragglers. No prisoners. Survival of the fittest, that's how I see this.
When we lived in California, there were always a few times each year that we'd get a steady stream of ants from our patio into our kitchen. Some people claimed that the ants were coming in to seek water. Which, given the desert that we lived in, made sense, if it was true. But whatever the reason that we were inunudated, we had to deal with the problem. That usually required some spraying, some ant traps and some vigilance. Usually that took care of most of them, but we always seemed to miss a few stragglers. So annoying.
Well. We may not have the same trouble with ants here in Tennessee, but we do have another minor scourge that we can't seem to keep fully contained. That's right. I'm talking about Legoes. (Legos? Lego bricks? Whatever.)
I'm here to tell you that it is nearly impossible to contain a Lego outbreak. It is insidious.
Yesterday, I had to wrestle Andrew to get a Lego minifigure helmet out of his hand. He objected. Loudly. Last week, I had to fish a tiny Star Wars Lego lightsaber out of his mouth. And this is all after David and William did a full sweep through the house and picked up Legoes from the floor of every room in the house. (Seriously. They were in every room in the house, save for Andrew's room. And I wouldn't swear in court that it's entirely Lego-free either.) They piled Lego bricks in bags and bins and boxes. They put Lego creations on the tops of shelves and tables. They tried to keep all the new Christmas-stocking Lego toys contained to either William's room or the playroom.
But every time I started to think, "Okay. We've finally got all the Lego stuff put away out of Andrew's reach," then I'd stumble across a tiny little piece embedded in the carpet somewhere. Or tucked away in a basket of toys on the floor. Or hiding beneath the plastic dishes in the toy kitchen in the family room. Or hanging out behind a chair that Andrew can easily crawl under.
It is nearly impossible to eradicate Legoes from one's house, once you are infected...er, infested...er, overrun....er, inundated with them. The best I can do is to just keep my eyes open for them and try to get to them before Andrew does.
Also, I am thinking about getting out my DustBuster and vacuuming up any stragglers. No prisoners. Survival of the fittest, that's how I see this.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Ringing in the new year
Happy 2011!
That is crazy, isn't it, that it's 2011 now. I remember being a kid and thinking that the Prince song "1999" seemed impossibly futuristic. And now, to Adult Me, 1999 seems like just a hazy memory. Which it is, more or less. Let's see, what was happening in 1999? Bill Clinton was president. I lived in Memphis. David and I started dating that summer; he was in med school. My parents lived in Columbus, Mississippi. I'd never heard of Google. There was no such thing as Facebook. My cell phone weighed about two pounds. I hadn't even gone to grad school yet.
In other words, there has been a lot of water that's gone under the bridge since then. Oceans of water.
I have to say, though, that I'm pretty comfortable with where my life is now. In 1999, I still didn't know where I was headed or how I was going to get there. I have a much better grasp of who I am now, and while I am not living some great glamorous life, I'm really okay with that. I'm happy with my life. Not to say that there aren't some things that I want to work on...taking better care of the house, trying to make sure I raise the boys right, and nurturing my writing career, to name a few...but I'm glad that I am where I am.
Also, I'm extremely glad that it's January 2011, and not January 2010. This time last year, my family was still reeling from the recent breast cancer diagnosis that my mother had received. She had begun treatment, and we were all anxious about that. David was still regaining his health after having battled a serious case of H1N1 flu and a secondary case of pneumonia. I was heavily pregnant and uncomfortable as all get out, not to mention nauseated with horrible neuropathy in my hands and feet. To make matters much worse, my father-in-law was diagnosed with a brain tumor in late January 2010; he began treatment later in the winter, and our whole family was on tenterhooks for months. Then there was that whole broken ankle thing, which wasn't life-threatening but it was just a giant pain in the neck...er, well, you know what I mean. I think I can speak for the whole family in saying that we are all very, very, very glad to put 2010 (and the last three or four months of 2009, too) behind us. Far behind us.
Pretty much, Andrew's birth was the lone bright spot in a very long, bleak period.
But oh, what a bright spot he was. And still is!
So I welcomed 2011. I'm too superstitious to say that it has to be a better year than 2010 was, because 2010 was very rough, coming on the heels of a rough 2009. But I am still glad that we are ushering in a new year,ushering in this new year.
To my minor dismay, I did not get any iconic images of either of the boys this New Year's.
Longtime readers might remember this picture from New Year's Eve 2006:
That, of course, was William, at eight months. He was just delicious then, wasn't he? He had fallen asleep in the living room. He played hard and then he crashed.
At ten months, Andrew is far more mobile than William was at eight months. It's hard to get him to sit still for a picture, let alone get him to fall asleep in some adorable pose so I can snap a photo. But I did at least get a picture of him wearing the same pajamas:
As for that sweet baby in the first picture, well, this is what he was up to on New Year's Eve this year:
Those are the 3-D glasses that he wore to a screening of the new cartoon movie "Tangled" on Monday. That was an interesting experience, incidentally, but you'll have to mosey on over to www.parentworld.com and read my blog there to read it. In the meantime, suffice it to say that we're lucky that he didn't get to see all of "Tron" after all.
Hope that your new year is getting off to a good start.
That is crazy, isn't it, that it's 2011 now. I remember being a kid and thinking that the Prince song "1999" seemed impossibly futuristic. And now, to Adult Me, 1999 seems like just a hazy memory. Which it is, more or less. Let's see, what was happening in 1999? Bill Clinton was president. I lived in Memphis. David and I started dating that summer; he was in med school. My parents lived in Columbus, Mississippi. I'd never heard of Google. There was no such thing as Facebook. My cell phone weighed about two pounds. I hadn't even gone to grad school yet.
In other words, there has been a lot of water that's gone under the bridge since then. Oceans of water.
I have to say, though, that I'm pretty comfortable with where my life is now. In 1999, I still didn't know where I was headed or how I was going to get there. I have a much better grasp of who I am now, and while I am not living some great glamorous life, I'm really okay with that. I'm happy with my life. Not to say that there aren't some things that I want to work on...taking better care of the house, trying to make sure I raise the boys right, and nurturing my writing career, to name a few...but I'm glad that I am where I am.
Also, I'm extremely glad that it's January 2011, and not January 2010. This time last year, my family was still reeling from the recent breast cancer diagnosis that my mother had received. She had begun treatment, and we were all anxious about that. David was still regaining his health after having battled a serious case of H1N1 flu and a secondary case of pneumonia. I was heavily pregnant and uncomfortable as all get out, not to mention nauseated with horrible neuropathy in my hands and feet. To make matters much worse, my father-in-law was diagnosed with a brain tumor in late January 2010; he began treatment later in the winter, and our whole family was on tenterhooks for months. Then there was that whole broken ankle thing, which wasn't life-threatening but it was just a giant pain in the neck...er, well, you know what I mean. I think I can speak for the whole family in saying that we are all very, very, very glad to put 2010 (and the last three or four months of 2009, too) behind us. Far behind us.
Pretty much, Andrew's birth was the lone bright spot in a very long, bleak period.
But oh, what a bright spot he was. And still is!
So I welcomed 2011. I'm too superstitious to say that it has to be a better year than 2010 was, because 2010 was very rough, coming on the heels of a rough 2009. But I am still glad that we are ushering in a new year,ushering in this new year.
To my minor dismay, I did not get any iconic images of either of the boys this New Year's.
Longtime readers might remember this picture from New Year's Eve 2006:
That, of course, was William, at eight months. He was just delicious then, wasn't he? He had fallen asleep in the living room. He played hard and then he crashed.
At ten months, Andrew is far more mobile than William was at eight months. It's hard to get him to sit still for a picture, let alone get him to fall asleep in some adorable pose so I can snap a photo. But I did at least get a picture of him wearing the same pajamas:
As for that sweet baby in the first picture, well, this is what he was up to on New Year's Eve this year:
Those are the 3-D glasses that he wore to a screening of the new cartoon movie "Tangled" on Monday. That was an interesting experience, incidentally, but you'll have to mosey on over to www.parentworld.com and read my blog there to read it. In the meantime, suffice it to say that we're lucky that he didn't get to see all of "Tron" after all.
Hope that your new year is getting off to a good start.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Merry Strepmas!
Merry Strepmas!
Yes, that's a little step-filled elf, sitting there with a plate of cookies and boiled custard for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Hope Santa Claus has good health insurance.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, both boys were running a low (under 101) fever. So their daddy brought them each an early Christmas present. When I was a kid, I usually got a sticker book or something for a Christmas Eve present, but for my kids, it was a rapid strep test and a flu test. Luckily, only William tested positive for strep. So it was off to the Publix pharmacy with us for antibiotics. I had sworn not to have to return to the grocery again before Christmas, and yet, there we were at 4:30 on Christmas Eve.
Insert obligatory "Thank God that we have a pediatrician in our family so we could dispatch this with haste" comment here.
Anyway, William and I skipped the children's Christmas Eve service. David went off to sing in the adult choir, and the boys and I drove around and looked at Christmas lights. William and I sang along with the Blind Boys of Alabama and Frank Sinatra on the radio. It was so peaceful, cruising around with "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" playing, as we gazed at all the lights coming on as the sky darkened. Then we came home and had a nice quiet evening. When David got home, William put out the plate of Santa cookies and David read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' and the Nativity story to the boys.
Also, William received a personalized video message from Santa! (Google "portable north pole" if you're curious.) David and I wrapped gifts after the boys went to bed, and as the night wore on, snowflakes began to fall.
And yes, Virginia, we had a white Christmas. In fact, it was my first white Christmas. I mean, hello, I did grow up in Alabama. It was just as likely to be 75 degrees on Christmas Day as anything. But the snow started on Christmas Eve, and when we woke up, there was about an inch of snow. And it continued to flurry off and on all day long. I was so giddy, you'd have thought I'd never seen snow before. You'd have thought I didn't spend all of last January and February snarling at the snow because I was so worried I'd get stuck out here and go into labor and be unable to get to the hospital.
Anyway, William woke up early. David hopped up and spotted him peering over the bannister toward the living room, craning for a glimpse of his presents from Santa. He also excitedly told his daddy that he thought he could see the tracks from Santa's sled on the snow on the roof of our neighbor's house. I immediately sat up in bed and posted that little gem on Facebook via my iPhone. (I so love modern technology.) And David and I decided to go ahead and let the boys have their presents from Santa, and then we'd have breakfast after the excitement died down a bit.
William was so thrilled by his Santa presents that it probably would not have mattered if he had gotten anything else for Christmas at all.
William was content to play with his Santa toys and his stocking gifts for a good long time. In fact, Diane and Mark came over around lunchtime, and we didn't even start opening the rest of the presents until after 1 p.m.
Here's William with David and the present that he specifically picked out and bought for his daddy (yes, you read that right):
And here's Andrew with Diane, and his special first Christmas present from her:
And the boys and I piled into Andrew's new chair for a quick picture right before bedtime.
I hope you all had a lovely Merry Christmas, white or not.
Yes, that's a little step-filled elf, sitting there with a plate of cookies and boiled custard for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Hope Santa Claus has good health insurance.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, both boys were running a low (under 101) fever. So their daddy brought them each an early Christmas present. When I was a kid, I usually got a sticker book or something for a Christmas Eve present, but for my kids, it was a rapid strep test and a flu test. Luckily, only William tested positive for strep. So it was off to the Publix pharmacy with us for antibiotics. I had sworn not to have to return to the grocery again before Christmas, and yet, there we were at 4:30 on Christmas Eve.
Insert obligatory "Thank God that we have a pediatrician in our family so we could dispatch this with haste" comment here.
Anyway, William and I skipped the children's Christmas Eve service. David went off to sing in the adult choir, and the boys and I drove around and looked at Christmas lights. William and I sang along with the Blind Boys of Alabama and Frank Sinatra on the radio. It was so peaceful, cruising around with "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" playing, as we gazed at all the lights coming on as the sky darkened. Then we came home and had a nice quiet evening. When David got home, William put out the plate of Santa cookies and David read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' and the Nativity story to the boys.
Also, William received a personalized video message from Santa! (Google "portable north pole" if you're curious.) David and I wrapped gifts after the boys went to bed, and as the night wore on, snowflakes began to fall.
And yes, Virginia, we had a white Christmas. In fact, it was my first white Christmas. I mean, hello, I did grow up in Alabama. It was just as likely to be 75 degrees on Christmas Day as anything. But the snow started on Christmas Eve, and when we woke up, there was about an inch of snow. And it continued to flurry off and on all day long. I was so giddy, you'd have thought I'd never seen snow before. You'd have thought I didn't spend all of last January and February snarling at the snow because I was so worried I'd get stuck out here and go into labor and be unable to get to the hospital.
Anyway, William woke up early. David hopped up and spotted him peering over the bannister toward the living room, craning for a glimpse of his presents from Santa. He also excitedly told his daddy that he thought he could see the tracks from Santa's sled on the snow on the roof of our neighbor's house. I immediately sat up in bed and posted that little gem on Facebook via my iPhone. (I so love modern technology.) And David and I decided to go ahead and let the boys have their presents from Santa, and then we'd have breakfast after the excitement died down a bit.
William was so thrilled by his Santa presents that it probably would not have mattered if he had gotten anything else for Christmas at all.
William was content to play with his Santa toys and his stocking gifts for a good long time. In fact, Diane and Mark came over around lunchtime, and we didn't even start opening the rest of the presents until after 1 p.m.
Here's William with David and the present that he specifically picked out and bought for his daddy (yes, you read that right):
And here's Andrew with Diane, and his special first Christmas present from her:
And the boys and I piled into Andrew's new chair for a quick picture right before bedtime.
I hope you all had a lovely Merry Christmas, white or not.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
That is the question
I can't wait to see what kinds of questions Andrew asks when he starts talking. Right now, he's mostly saying things like "Da! Da! De!" and the odd "Guh!" and "Ba!" But he says them enthusiastically and with a great deal of conviction, so you can tell that the wheels are turning in there. Probably he'll bust out with some sort of jaw-dropping question one of these days that will have me floundering around for an answer, any answer.
William, of course, does this sort of thing all the time these days. The other day, he asked me me if we would understand everything about God when we get to heaven. I opened my eyes very wide and thought, "Wow. How do I even begin to think about that, let alone respond to that?" I ended up saying something limp about the mystery of faith, which didn't even satisfy me. I don't particularly like it when someone uses that as as response to one of my eschatological or teleological questions, but I have more or less accepted that, well, that's about all we can know at this point.
A few days ago, William asked me another question that strained my abilities: "What comes after outer space?"
I stuttered for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. I mean, the truth of the matter is, I have no earthly idea (no pun intended). I finally said, "Well. I don't know, William. I presume that outer space just goes on and on forever, but I don't know for sure."
This led him to begin asking questions about infinity. I tried to explain that infinity is more of a concept than an actual number. Which is a weak answer, I know. But theoretical mathematics, as a general rule, is not my area of expertise. Then, tonight I had the experience of searching for "googol" on Google. (How meta is that?) William and I know now that "googol" is the digit 1 followed by one hundred 0s.
Of course, I was all satisified just to learn that, and William had to go and ask "Well, what's the number after that?"
"Um, googol and one?" I suggested. (That is right, isn't it?)
The good news is that William does ask this kind of question. Those of you who know me in person have probably heard me complain about people who have absolutely no intellectual curiosity whatsoever. Intellectual curiosity is a trait that I value a great deal. I'm not saying that I expect people to just know certain things but I like it when people want to learn more. And I especially like it when people ask questions to which they don't already know the answers. (Sorry, lawyers out there.) So it pleases me that my son wants to learn more. It challenges me, too. I mean, I can't think of a single other reason that I would have been Googling googol, but now I know. I'm not sure if that makes me a better person--probably not--but hey, at least I'm learning something new.
Side note: I wonder if I asked this kind of question when I was a child. I don't remember asking questions that had my parents scratching their heads as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer, but perhaps I did. Mom, Dad, want to weigh in?
William, of course, does this sort of thing all the time these days. The other day, he asked me me if we would understand everything about God when we get to heaven. I opened my eyes very wide and thought, "Wow. How do I even begin to think about that, let alone respond to that?" I ended up saying something limp about the mystery of faith, which didn't even satisfy me. I don't particularly like it when someone uses that as as response to one of my eschatological or teleological questions, but I have more or less accepted that, well, that's about all we can know at this point.
A few days ago, William asked me another question that strained my abilities: "What comes after outer space?"
I stuttered for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. I mean, the truth of the matter is, I have no earthly idea (no pun intended). I finally said, "Well. I don't know, William. I presume that outer space just goes on and on forever, but I don't know for sure."
This led him to begin asking questions about infinity. I tried to explain that infinity is more of a concept than an actual number. Which is a weak answer, I know. But theoretical mathematics, as a general rule, is not my area of expertise. Then, tonight I had the experience of searching for "googol" on Google. (How meta is that?) William and I know now that "googol" is the digit 1 followed by one hundred 0s.
Of course, I was all satisified just to learn that, and William had to go and ask "Well, what's the number after that?"
"Um, googol and one?" I suggested. (That is right, isn't it?)
The good news is that William does ask this kind of question. Those of you who know me in person have probably heard me complain about people who have absolutely no intellectual curiosity whatsoever. Intellectual curiosity is a trait that I value a great deal. I'm not saying that I expect people to just know certain things but I like it when people want to learn more. And I especially like it when people ask questions to which they don't already know the answers. (Sorry, lawyers out there.) So it pleases me that my son wants to learn more. It challenges me, too. I mean, I can't think of a single other reason that I would have been Googling googol, but now I know. I'm not sure if that makes me a better person--probably not--but hey, at least I'm learning something new.
Side note: I wonder if I asked this kind of question when I was a child. I don't remember asking questions that had my parents scratching their heads as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer, but perhaps I did. Mom, Dad, want to weigh in?
Monday, December 20, 2010
The challenge of getting good Christmas pictures of the boys
Gratuitous Christmas picture time!
I so love them. I mean, I know I'm utterly biased, but aren't they adorable?
I took a billion photographs of the two of them in various matching or coordinating outfits, trying to get a good picture to use for a Christmas card. I have learned, in doing so, that it is exponentially harder to get a good picture of two small boys than it is to get a good picture of one small boy.
You see, if Andrew is looking at the camera and smiling, then William is grimacing in that time-honored scruched-face smile that all four-year-olds seem to do. Conversely, if William is smiling naturally and looking charming, then Andrew has his hand in his mouth. Or he's trying to crawl away. Or both.
It's like a Christmas miracle when I get a shot like the one I just posted. It's like getting your story on A1 of the newspaper or winning the door prize at a party. Woot! It makes me very happy.
And believe it or not, I actually got several good photos of the two boys to choose from. Here's another one:
And one more:
If only this one had been better centered:
But anyway, there you go. William's doing a little bit of the fake smile there, but overall, I think they're pretty acceptable.
I so love them. I mean, I know I'm utterly biased, but aren't they adorable?
I took a billion photographs of the two of them in various matching or coordinating outfits, trying to get a good picture to use for a Christmas card. I have learned, in doing so, that it is exponentially harder to get a good picture of two small boys than it is to get a good picture of one small boy.
You see, if Andrew is looking at the camera and smiling, then William is grimacing in that time-honored scruched-face smile that all four-year-olds seem to do. Conversely, if William is smiling naturally and looking charming, then Andrew has his hand in his mouth. Or he's trying to crawl away. Or both.
It's like a Christmas miracle when I get a shot like the one I just posted. It's like getting your story on A1 of the newspaper or winning the door prize at a party. Woot! It makes me very happy.
And believe it or not, I actually got several good photos of the two boys to choose from. Here's another one:
And one more:
If only this one had been better centered:
But anyway, there you go. William's doing a little bit of the fake smile there, but overall, I think they're pretty acceptable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)